Today, Tuesday, I got through the door of my control centre in Cambridge, without falling over, and without puking, for the first time since early Saturday morning. Still haven’t eaten since the onset of my honkathon, but I did mange to drink a glass of cold water. That was a BIG result, and ridiculously luxurious.

AND I managed the (admittedly short) busride, got to my bank without too much incident, went to the local art shop (not as authentically classy as it sounds, but I did it).

Went to my local minimart. Spent the afternoon degunging the washbasin drain in my bathroom. I know it’s the owner/landlord’s responsibility, but what the hell? I now have a nice satisfying gurgle, and a sense of achievement way WAY what I actually achieved.

While the drain was clearing, I was patching my jeans.

What an exotic life I do lead eh? Oy yeah, try threading a needle when you have manual tremor and brachial tics. So thanks Copydex. Hence my trip to the arts shop.

As somebody said, ‘Little steps.’ I still wish I was wandering around hills in Wales. But better than lolling around feeling sorry for myself, eh?